Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0NC8PHV1HDQSVCPW3TH34S

Molly unfolded the birthday invitation across the dashboard as if it were a bank vault blueprint. Glitter stuck to her gloves, which annoyed her because glitter had a way of testifying in court. Across the street, balloons bobbed on the mailbox of Number 42, where squealing children circled like tiny, frosting-powered guard dogs. Bill peered through binoculars, upside down. "Molly, cake at three." "That's a clown, Bill." "Same threat level." Their getaway van idled behind a hedge trimmed into the shape of a duck. Molly tapped the schedule: magic show at noon, piñata at twelve-thirty, sugar crash by one. The presents waited on a folding table beneath a banner reading HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY, LUCAS! in letters large enough to shame a ransom note. Bill adjusted his fake mustache, which was taped over his real mustache. Molly had chosen their disguises carefully: children's entertainers, budget tier. She carried juggling pins. Bill carried a balloon pump and the haunted expression of a man who had once lost a fight with a pony. "We enter as Sparkle Brigade." "I hate brigades." "Then steal cheerfully." At twelve sharp, the front door opened. A mother waved. Molly smiled, lifted the juggling pins, and stepped forward into chaos.